


A Different Fate

by peachykeen66



Series: The Other Iron Maiden [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Booker tried doing the right thing? Sorta?, Canon-Typical Violence, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Dreams and Nightmares, Drowning, F/F, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Nicky is trapped in the coffin, Nicky saves the day, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachykeen66/pseuds/peachykeen66
Summary: Booker deals with heartbreak, immortality, and the soul crushing pain that comes with experiencing life for much longer than you necessarily desire.Dreaming of an Italian man drowning at the bottom of the ocean everyday doesn’t help matters much, either.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Other Iron Maiden [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943923
Comments: 18
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I got a bit inspired to do a sequel of sorts to a one-shot I posted a few days ago. I have the other chapter planned out so that should be up hopefully within the week. Hope you guys enjoy! (Translations will be at the end notes).

There were three distinct moments in Booker’s post-mortal life that gave him the same bone aching, soul crushing _hurt_ , that he felt tripping in the snow as he fled across the Russian ice away from his French brothers in arms.

The first occurred roughly thirty-three years after his first execution. It was seeing his family, his beautiful wife, wrinkled in old age; his four sons, aging, getting ill, _dying_. Weak brittle hands slapped him as they thrashed around on a hospital bed _begging him_ for a cure.

_“Père s'il te plait, qu'avons-nous fait pour mériter ça?”_

He walked away, feet trudging through imaginary snow, stomach twisting at false hunger pains, until he left and rejoined his new family, Andromache, Joseph, and Quynh, at a safehouse just outside of Varna.

The second time occurred the night he reunited with the other immortals. Booker, still Sébastien at the time, knocked on the door gently, waiting for someone to answer. 

The last time they spoke, he refused to follow them, ignoring their code of “doing good for humanity”, insisting that he had to return to his wife and children, that they _needed_ him. Joseph and Andromache argued first with him, and then at each other.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about! He’s practically a child, Ann!”

“He can make his own decisions. If he does not want to stay, we cannot force him to.”

“No, instead we’ll just let him crawl back to us in a few decades once everyone dies and he is left with no one else. Excellent plan!”

“It does not have to go in that direction, Yusuf.”

“It will _always_ go in that direction. All I am saying is _you_ deal with the heartbreak when it inevitably happens. I have enough to last me a millennia.”

Neither truly won the argument, but a few hours later, as Sébastien headed out the door, Quynh pulled him aside, handing him a small, pocket sized journal.

“I swear, Joseph is never usually so harsh. If you ever need, do not hesitate to find us.” She pauses, looking behind her, as if to see if anyone is there, before turning back around. “I know you have had a rough few months, and everything is still so fresh, but please, take note of your dreams. In the off chance you see a man in the ocean in any, please write it down in here.” She gestures to the notebook still held lightly in his grasp, before heading inside.

Sébastien never gave the notebook or the mysterious ocean man much thought until he fell asleep on the train ride heading home. Quynh was right, being chased, freezing, and reviving only to freeze again made paying attention to everything happening around him challenging. He was barely able to piece together what his dreams of the other immortals meant. Now however, as he had a full meal in his belly and new knowledge of what he had been experiencing, his dreams were able to solely focus on a man, trapped in an iron coffin, drowning at the bottom of the ocean.

The dreams of the man continued almost daily, whether Sébastien slept on his own, with his family close by, or even when he took a nap. Every night, Sébastien dreamt of salt burning his eyes, clouding his vision, of blooding hands pounding against the metal surrounding him, and the eerie quiet that would happen every other minute, before the screaming would start again.

It felt like heartbreak, and fear, and guilt all rolled into one. In the beginning he used to write it all down, only because he promised Quynh, who had been the nicest one to him, _relatively speaking._ After a few years, he had stopped. Nothing was changing. There were no new findings, no new feelings, just the continued grief and sorrow felt somewhere hundreds of feet below them. It used to be easier, with his family to distract him every day, but now with everyone around him dead or hating him, Sébastien made sure to fall asleep less and less. His own tragedy was hard enough to deal with, let alone this abandoned man’s. The pain began piling up higher and higher, and as it did, it seemed like the man in the coffin got worse and worse, as if he and Sébastien were connected. He could not take it anymore, hence why he was standing outside a new house, running back to the same people who warned him of this fate. He raised a hand to knock again, when the door swung open.

_It will always go in that direction._

_You deal with the heartbreak when it inevitably happens._

Joseph does not say anything. There is no _I told you so,_ nor is the door getting slammed in his face, so already Sébastien counted that as a win. Instead, Joseph nods, stepping aside to let him in.

Andromache and Quynh are seated at the dining room table, as if expecting him. None of them ask any questions, instead handing him a bottle of vodka— _his first of many_. They know there will be plenty of time to hash out what had happened with his family. He was honestly grateful that they chose not to bring it up, foregoing backstory or introductions, instead talking about what they had done the past few days. The small talk and five glasses worth of liquor in his system is why he forgets about his companion at the bottom of the sea. 

The dream began like the others have, salt burning his skin, water forcing it’s way down his throat. Except, for the first time in years, the man at the bottom of the ocean did not feel heartbroken. Sébastien was surrounded by the feeling of hope, and of love. Between one death and the next, Sébastien felt _grateful_ to be at the bottom of the ocean. Though no words were spoken, one overwhelming thought kept racing through his mind.

_Grazie dio, grazie dio sta bene._

His blood turned to ice. He was hanging, choking on empty air all over again. The world as he knew it up-ended on him. Whatever last bit of balance over his own life he had was ripped away in a matter of seconds.

Sébastien woke up sobbing. Andromache, who was sleeping with Quynh across the room, tried to calm him down as her partner was gathering her bearings. Joseph stood in the doorway and watched with an unreadable expression on his face.

No one asked him what was wrong, but he could guess that they knew. That they expected this to happen. He feels a bit foolish then, for not asking immediately about he man underwater, about why Quynh asked him on his way out to keep an eye out for him. He may be foolish, but he wasn’t stupid, which is why it clicks so suddenly for Sébastien as to why Joseph was so adamant that he not return to his family.

_I have enough to last me a millennia._

“He thanked God, in my dream.”

The two women next to him silence, just as Joseph tenses. He looks up and meets the other man’s eyes.

“He’s so grateful that you’re okay. That you are not down there with him.”

Grief washes over Joseph and he collapses onto the floor, weeping into his sleeves, crying out _“Nico, Nicolò, 'iinaa asif, habibi.”_

Later on, Sébastien will hand Joseph the notebook he kept by his side throughout all those years, and he will be told the proper story behind the man in the coffin— _NicolòNicoNicolas—_ and the people who he will now call his family.

Ever since Sèbastien, now Booker, began working with the other immortals, they agreed as a group to start looking for Nicolò again between jobs. With Booker dreaming of him, and fast improving technology, they thought it would be easier, _safer,_ to begin the search again. What seemed like a new start quickly soured, as they still were no closer to freeing the crusader from his prison. Andy and Quynh continued to keep their spirits up, but it seemed that the knowledge of Nicolò’s constant torture weighed heavily on Joe, and subsequentially, Booker as well. They both wallowed and raged at the world more times than not.

_This world did not deserve my Nicolò. He was too kind, lighting my way through darkness without ever asking for anything in return. Fate was too cruel to him._

Discovering Nile was a blessing, and the beginning of the end for Booker. She was as fierce as she was curious, demanding answers and sparring with Andy as hard as she could. She also had a kindness to her that Booker had not felt with the others. Sure, they were nice and fun to be around, they were his family

after all, but Nile tried to make sure everyone felt at ease, that she didn’t overstep any boundaries while asking questions about their lives. When she went to sleep that first night, Joe had poured them an extra glass of whisky, shaking his head fondly.

_She seems so good. Very balanced. Nicolò will love her_

Which is why, when she dreamt of Nicolò later that night, crying about _a bright eyed man who prayed to a certain mio caro,_ Booker called an old CIA operative the group had worked with years prior and asked to meet for lunch. It has been too long. Too many years of waiting and hoping, _praying_ to some imaginary God that a kind, gentle man who has loved to the point of having such blind faith in his family (still after all of these centuries), should finally be released from a prison he was forced into because he was trying to do some good for the world.

The man, James Copley, sat across from Booker, quietly sipping from his mug of coffee, keeping silent far longer than Booker had initially thought he would.

“Mr. Merrick will not give this to you free of charge, he will want something in return, or in at the very least, the true explanation behind this oceanic search party you have planned.”

“Which is why i’m offering you a trade. Mr. Merrick’s resources, in exchange for myself.”

Copley looked startled at the offer, but Booker continued on.

“I showed you proof of what we can do, I cut my hand wide open, only for it to heal within moments. I’m sure a man of Merrick’s rank would love to have a go at figuring immortality out. My life, for the opportunity to free Nicolò. My only ask, is that the others will never know, they deserve to have that peace.”

Copley nodded, putting down his mug.

“And what is being a science experiment do for you, Booker?”

Booker swallows, readjusting the sunglasses propped up on his nose.

“A way out. Living forever is not all it’s cracked up to be.” He sighs, “I’m very tired Mr. Copley. Grief, is exhausting. This is as much for my sake as it is theirs.”

Copley seemed to understand, dipping his head.

“I’ll be in touch, then.”

Booker kept the meeting to himself, passing the next two weeks off as if everything was going as usual. Andy taught Nile how to fight, while Joe brought her shopping for new clothes. Booker continued drinking with Joe, tried to be as friendly and open with Nile as he could before...before it all ends for him.

He had planned it that Merrick’s men would grab Booker as he went grocery shopping one night, completely alone and without a trace left behind. The team would fret and look for him, of course. But it would all be turned around once the Merrick’s team “accidentally” finds Nicolò stranded in the middle of the Atlantic and returns him to Joe. They would be so focused on Nico’s return that they would slow down the search for Booker. They would lose hope as years went on, just as they had initially with Nicolò. It would be a fair trade, one Sèbastien was willing to make to not only give himself a reprieve from the grief and guilt of living forever, but also for Yusuf’s sake. 

The man was an older brother to Booker, they sat together for years, reminiscing on events neither could relive, crying to the other about love lost too soon. If anything good can come from this, it would be to give Yusuf his other half back.

Except now, centuries later, Sébastien feels the weight of this immortal life crush him for the third, and potentially final time.

The five of them sit around, watching television, trying to pass the night away, when the door is kicked open. They barely got the chance to stand up before grenades were tossed inside, going off feet away from them. Boots storm in as smoke fills the room and suddenly Booker is tossed to the ground, hands yanked behind him, cuffs getting slapped onto his wrists. Distantly, he hears Andromache screaming, _“No! Let us go! Stop!”_ He can’t hear Quynh. Nile is still laying unconscious, _more likely dead,_ on the floor. Joe may already be outside, he can’t tell at all.

He gets hauled up and shoved out the door. Standing beside a set of open van doors is Copley.

The fear and rage and sheer hopelessness Booker felt in Russia comes flooding back. He just wanted things to _stop._ He just wanted something _good_ to happen. He couldn’t escape death and defeat. Everything Sèbastien did, from the moment he fled Napoleon to the moment he accepted the call from Copley had been one massive waste of _fucking time_. Time he already had too much of.

He wasn’t dumb enough to trust a pharmaceutical corporation, but he thought Copley was different. Thought his and Yusuf’s shared grief would be enough.

_Toujours si naïf, chérie._ _  
_

He’s a goddamn idiot.

“I trusted you! You bastard! _You gave me your word.”_

Copley didn’t respond, instead glancing somewhere behind Booker, most likely where Quynh was getting dragged out. Booker tried turning around, planting his feet firmly on the ground, but something slammed into his head and without warning he was back underwater. Sèbastien expected the feeling of sea salt seeping into bloodied hands. He expected the blurred light peaking through the small openings above his face.

What Booker didn’t expect, was the unfamiliar white hot rage that burned through his veins with each slam of a fist against the iron.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read through all of the comments on both parts of the story and i’m so happy you guys are enjoying it so far! You’re comments were so nice, it made the past few stressful days a bit better! Hope you enjoy this next chapter as well.
> 
> More translations at the end.

Booker wakes up to his head thumping against the floor of the van as it manuvers over a bumpy patch of road. He stays quiet, trying to gather as much information as he can before he “regains consciousness”. A few men are sitting on benches lined against the walls of the van, feet lightly hitting against him as they move. His arms are tied behind him still, and his shoulders are still feeling the ghost of their initial ache. He hears someone grumbling to themselves in a language that he cannot decipher, but recognizes instantly.  _ Thank fuck Joes awake. _

He feels a second pair of legs laid out on top of his, the heel of a boot digs into his shins sharper than he would like, but either way, he wouldn’t know who they belonged to until he sat up and took a look around. So, with an exaggerated groan, he shifts his body, moving so he faces Joe who goes silent. Booker sits up, shaking his head as if to wake himself up before opening his eyes. Joe sat across from him, face blank. Next to him sat Quynh, still unconscious. He nudged his sister with his knee, attempting to rouse her. 

“Don’t touch her.”

The harsh tone he expected, but the fact that it was spoken in French and came from Joe, startled Booker.

“Wha-?”

Joe didn’t respond, face staying blank as he fiddled around with his own bound wrists, conveniently placed in front of him. It reminded Booker of the Joe he met centuries prior, one who was hopeless and furious at the world. One who walked with a lingering bitterness in his voice. It took him almost the rest of the quiet car trip to figure out why his brother would react in such a way.

_He heard what I said to Copley. He know’s I lured the scientists right to us. Merde._

Eventually, the van stops and the guards that were inside led the Joe, Booker, and a recently awoken Quynh out onto a private jet. Despite being cuffed to the seats, he had to admit it was one of the fanciest aircrafts he has ever been on. Part of him wanted to laugh with Joe and Quynh about the obnoxious flat screen hanging over the cabin door, but one look at the duo made him nauseous, stomach twisting into knots. He couldn’t blame them, Joe especially, who still acted like he were on a personal mission assigned by God to save Nicolò, regardless of how fruitless it has been thus far. Any bump in the plan would make the man freak, and Booker can say that this was one major fucking bump. 

The flight was quiet and short, only about two hours long, landing in another private airport. Once again, the three were hauled away and into another cliché unmarked black van. Booker debated about sleeping to pass the time, but the thoughts of the bone deep fury he felt from the man under the ocean was enough to turn him off of rest for the foreseeable future. Regardless of whether it was directed towards him or the situation as a whole, he was just so  _tired_ of it all. That was the whole point of this suicide mission from the get-go. The constant pull of life despite his pleas to just let it all end. Andy and Quynh were happy, Nile was transitioning into her new life with unusual ease, even Joe was holding onto hope that things would look up— even if that hope stemmed solely from Nicolò who, after almost two hundred and fifty years trapped and isolated and in misery, still had complete faith in the man that he loves. Booker had  _nothing_.  He loved his new family, underwater Italian included, more than anything on this earth, and yet he felt  _done_.  There was no going up, nothing to look forward to. And now, with his failed attempt at peace shared with said family, he can safely say that will be burned down too.

Booker felt the van crawl to a stop, and the three immortals were dragged out towards a freight elevator. Joe’s mood seemed to seep out onto Quynh who stayed unusually silent and obedient, as if Joe had the answer to a question she didn’t know yet, playing along with him. A trip up fourteen floors and down eight hallways brought them into a sterile white lab, where Nile and Andromache were already strapped down onto two of the five medical chairs in the room. They each let themselves be sat down and locked in. Once the guards seemed to be satisfied that the immortals wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, they all stepped out, leaving the five alone. 

Quynh turned her head to the left towards Andy.

“Andromache? Are you alright?”

Andy nodded, before glancing past Quynh to check Joe over, “You guys good?”

Joe didn’t respond, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him.  _Better get this over with._

“Joe—“

“ _Don’t_.  I don’t want to hear  _shit_ from you.”

Booker knew it was coming, and Quynh seemed to have expected some type of outburst, but Nile and Andy both startled.

Quynh shook her head, “Joe, I know this isn’t ideal—“

“ _Ideal?_ What isn’t  _ideal_ Quynh, is overhearing Sèbastien tell the kidnappers that they lied to him.”

Booker sighed, “Joe, that’s not—“

“It also isn’t  _ideal_ that someone I considered a  _brother_ sold us out!”

Booker let the new information settle because at the end of the day, it’s somewhat true. He didn’t mean for it to go down this way, but it has. He sold them out.

“Is that true?” Nile asked from Booker’s left. He looked over, seeing the three women look at him expectedly. He felt like a child who just got caught lying to his mother, and some weak part of himself wanted to keep the lie going, keep this imaginary idea of loyalty together, but he couldn’t. Not with Joe on the other end still avoiding his gaze. 

His breathe stuttered as he spoke. “I just wanted to help.”

Andy closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Book...”

“Don’t fucking lie to us.” Joe’s voice echoed harshly in the abandoned room.

“I’m not!” He couldn’t take the empathetic look in Nile’s eyes, or Quynhs disappointed furrow in her brow. He certainly couldn’t handle Joe’s wrath or Andy’s hurt at his betrayal. “I just wanted it to end! It was just supposed to be me, it was supposed to be a fair trade! I thought Copley understood me! You guys were never supposed to be involved!”

He’s not sure if it was the tears that fell from his eyes that softened Joe’s demeanor, or the words he spoke themselves.

“Sèbastien, you could have spoken to us, I know better than anyone how strong a hold grief can have on a person, we could have talked through it.”

“We never wanted you to feel so alone that ending things would be your preferred solution.” Quynh interrupted quietly. Booker shakes his head, shame flooding through him.

“I’m sorry, Je suis désolé, Yusuf, dèsolè.”

“It’s alright Book, you made a stupid mistake, you trusted the wrong people. It’ll be alright.”

A sob ripped through him. The others stayed silent while he cried. He felt like such a child. He knew Joe would be angry when he found out, he expected to be cursed at and insulted, but Joe being understanding, of seemingly throwing the blame elsewhere threw another wrench in his preconceived notions of how this situation would play out.  _No wonder Nicolò puts his faith in this man._ As if slapped in the face, Booker stops crying and gasps because  _if they know about us, they know about Nicolò._

He swings his head, finding that the others are already watching him.

“Yusuf, I am so sorry, I didn’t know Copley would screw me over, I was trying to help, I knew they wouldn’t do it for free, I thought it would be a fair trade—“

Joe shook his head, “Book, what are you talking about?” Just as Nile asked, “Trade? Trade what?”

Before he could respond, the door to the lab opens up. A Weasley kid in a suit walks in, followed by a blonde scientist, a few guards, and Copley. The kid smiles as he takes a look over the immortals.

“Well, what a group we have here! It’s nice to finally see you all in the flesh.” He places a hand over his chest, “My name is Steven Merrick, younest CEO in pharma and head of Merrick Pharmaceuticals. For the next foreseeable future, you lovely creatures will assist myself and the lovely Dr. Kozak,” he gestures towards the blonde scientist, “in creating a cure for any illness, a cure for any injury, and perhaps,” he says with a wink, “even a cure for death.” He smiles wider, pleased with his silly speech. 

“You’re not going to find any, Mr. Merrick.” 

Merrick’s smile fades as he directs his attention towards Joe.

“Oh? And what makes you say that?”

Joe’s eyes are hard, resolute, as he says, “We are not immune to death. We are all destined to die sooner or later.” 

Merrick laughs humorlessly, walking towards Joe, hand reaching into his pocket, “Is that right? You are not “immune to death”?”

Before Joe could nod, Merrick’s hand is pulled from his pocket, revealing a small scalpel, and he slams it into Joe’s chest, before yanking it out and stabbing again. Booker’s yelling over Nile who’s shouts of “ _Stop! Fucking stop!_ ”  are being ignored. Even Copley is held back by Keane after attempting to step forward. After the third stab, Merrick steps back, and watches Joe’s chest heal through the cuts in his shirt, laughing over Joe’s muttered Italian curses.

“Still believe you are not immune to death?”

Joe controls his breathing, and glances at Merrick.

“We both do.”

The immortals, Nile included, understand what Joe is saying, it only takes a few minutes alone with the man to know that almost any conversation he is a part of has inklings of Nicolò weaved throughout. Booker only hopes Merrick doesn’t put two and two together as well. 

Lucky for him, it doesn’t seem so, as Merrick just turns and walks out, leaving Dr. Kozak and the head security guard, Keane, inside. The doctor heads towards Joe, pulling a rolling table of scalpels, vacutainers, and small plastic sample containers with her as she goes. He doesn’t end up fighting, just tugging at the restraints, as if to try and find a weak spot. Booker closes his eyes, wanting to avoid the inevitable for as long as he could.

This pattern went on for the next few days. Dr. Kozak would come in, slice pieces off of the immortals, putting colorful labels on each new pound of flesh she ripped away before leaving them under constant surveillance. The flesh was mostly taken from Joe and Andy, being the oldest immortal man and woman. Sometimes it was Booker, sometimes Nile, less often it was Quynh, since she was blessed, it seemed, with being the middle child. With their increased amount of deaths, Booker found himself sleeping more, constantly trying to make up the never ending exhaustion he feels with healing over and over, and it seems Nile is the same. She wakes up after resting, more often then not, with tears flowing down her resilient face, still unused to the emotions that pour from Nicolò. 

Booker himself has noticed the change in Nicolò; the constant physical agony is still ever-present, but the heartbreak has come back full force, mixed in with something Booker would describe as insanity. A type of fury he himself has never experienced, flows through Nicolòs veins, and Booker desperately wants to warn Yusuf that his soulmate feels crazy, that he feels  _nothing_ like the man he has gotten used to feeling in the back of his mind. But he can’t. He can’t say anything of the sort because Yusuf has already gone through so much pain and misery in these few days alone, he doesn’t want to be the one to break the news that Nico, sweet loving Nico, feels like a wild, rabid beast. He doesn’t even tell him that Merrick may know about Nicolò because he’s starting to think that maybe Copley  _didn’t_ mention the trapped man to the scientists. Merrick is the type of man to brag about his ventures, if they had a feeling that they were even close to finding Nicolò, he would of mentioned it...probably. Even if he wanted to continue the conversation from days earlier, explain his ramblings about a “trade”, he can’t. Not with the twenty four hour surveillance via masker guards that stand by the entrance to the lab. He already risked Nicolò once, he will not make the same mistake twice, even if the others keep asking him the same silent questions over and over again. 

Booker was going to stick to that vow of silence, of keeping Nicolò’s name to himself, except, nine days into their capture, over three weeks since his first meeting with Copley, Booker goes to sleep, and dreams of the sun.

It takes Booker by such surprise, that he automatically assumes it’s his own dream, one that he gets every once in a while that reminds him of his young sons playing in his old house near some exquisite fruit trees his wife had planted when they first got married. Except, this dream is too bright, flashes to trees flying by through a window. He sees brief glimpses of Merrick, looking estatic, of Copley, stiff and uncomfortable. He hears tires against the pavement and the clicking of cell phone keys. It’s nothing compared to what he  _feels_.  The same wild, animalistic fury is settled deep inside him, disgust and pity are placed in the mix, but more importantly, there is an overarching layer of patience and false meekness that is all around him. He feels hidden in plain sight, a mouse among men, and yet, a God among mortals. He feels  _Nicolò_ all around him. 

He wakes up weeping. He doesn’t notice the guards in the room, he doesn’t notice Dr. Kozak still leaning over Nile, he barely even registers Andy’s voice, trying to calm him down. He keeps crying, turning towards Joe.

“Ils l'ont fait, ils l'ont fait Yusuf.”

_They did it, they fucking did it Joe. After all this fucking time, those dirtbags actually pulled it off._

“Qui a fait quoi?”

“Les salauds l'ont trouvé. Ton cœur est libre.”

_Your heart is free, Joe. The bastards actually fucking did it, they fucking found him._

Joe’s face went slack, eyes widening at what Booker was implying. 

“Ils l'ont capturé aussi ?”

_Did they capture him too?_

Booker shakes his head, “Ils pensent qu'il a peur, ils essaient de le tromper.”

Booker laughed then, because he never physically met the man once, barely saw his face aside from drawings Joe worshipped in his many sketchbooks, only heard of him in bittersweet tales sung by Andy and Quynh, but if he knew one thing, it was that Nicolò loved Yusuf more than anything on this earth. And he currently sat with the very same men who captured and tortured his lover.  _They won’t stand a chance._

Next to Joe, Andy snapped her head towards Quynh, who had gasped. Nile, still getting sliced apart, huffed out a curse, ignoring Dr. Kozak.

“Guys, I don’t speak french, what the fuck is he saying.”

Only then, did Joe’s face brighten, smile more open than Booker had ever seen before, and he laughed. He laughed like Booker had told him the greatest news in the world,  because _he did_.  He laughed because even after all of the shit they went through, Yusuf still had Nicolò. Booker thought Nico was crazy when he first felt that glimpse of hope because it had been so long, he had been drowning for  _years_ ,  and yet he still trusted Yusuf with his entire being. Only now, hearing Joe at, what Booker can only describe as his happiest, did he realize,  _Nico trusts Yusuf so blindly because Joe trusts Nicolò just as much._

Joe smiles as he turns towards Nile, “I hope you love lasagna, because you’re gonna have some of the best you’ve ever tasted.”

Joe’s happiness is contagious, because soon Andy laughs, as does Quynh. Nile snorts, confused, but amused by the others, distracted from the procedure happening to her currently. 

The good mood lasts for the next three hours. Dr. Kozak begins writing notes at her desk by the door when the unmistakable sound of gunshots echo through the halls. The doctor stands, backing away from the closed door while the guard standing inside runs out. Joe brightens again.

“Maybe if you release us now, Dr. Kozak, ya amar will go easy on you.”

Nile raises her eyebrows at the statement, “ _Ya amar_ _?_ Who’s that?”

Andy laughs, “I don’t know if we have time for all that, Nile.” The teasing tone thrown Joe’s way.

Dr. Kozak seems to at least consider letting them go, especially after hearing the confused lilt in Nile’s voice, stepping a few more feet into the room, before the door gets kicked open, and a man steps in. 

Booker can’t say much about Nicolòs looks since he barely saw him through the small windows in the coffin, but Joe captured him  _perfectly_ in his drawings. His brown hair is longer than Joe’s, just missing the tops his shoulders. He has a surprisingly short, neat beard and mustache that compliments his nose. And his eyes, the feature Joe raved about the most, were  _striking_.  Those cool blue-gray irises seemed to scan over everything in the room, observing, taking it all in, before landing on Joe. The icy cold furious determination in them melted into something so soft, and warm, and  _loving_ ,  it made Booker want to weep. 

“ _Nicolò_.”

Booker looked over and Joe was, in fact, weeping. The air was sucked out of the room as two immortals simply stared at each other.

“ _Yusuf, tesoro._ ”

“ Nico, ya amar—“

“Ya amar?” Dr. Kozak asked, and whatever trance the two were in broke, as Nicolò stiffened and turned towards the woman. Without saying another word, he walked forward and grabbed Dr. Kozak, slamming her head against the desk before she could protest, knocking her out almost instantly.

After another few seconds of watching to make sure she wouldn’t get up, Nicolò headed straight for Joe, but not before unclipping Quynh’s right arm, so she could release the others. Nico unlocked the straps over Joe’s arms and chest, and as soon as he could, Joe sat up, throwing his arms around Nicolò. Nico held him just as tight.

Booker couldn’t hear everything they were saying, since it was mostly muffled Arabic coming from Joe in between shuddering breaths. After a few moments of just holding onto each other, Joe pulled back and held Nicolò’s face in his hands, pushing loose strands of hair behind his ear, looking him up and down.

“They dressed you in denim, hayati, you look so stylish.”

“Perhaps...it is a bit too tight, amore, I think those men wanted to punish me some more.”

Joe laughed, rubbing his thumbs against Nicolò’s cheeks.

“I missed you habibi, kunt aftaqadk kathirana”

Nicolò smiled, a light quirk of his lips, eyes so full of light.

“Yusuf, mio caro, anche tu mi sei mancata.”

Yusuf pulled Nicolò towards him, pressing their lips together, holding each other close. Booker turned away, giving them their space, instead focusing his attention on Nile who seemed absolutely baffled. 

“Wait, hold on, hold up...Nicolò as in,  _Joe’s_ Nicolò? The one from our dreams?”

Andy chuckled, undoing Nile’s last strap while Quynh moved towards Booker, unbuckling his straps as well. “Yes, Joe’s Nicolò.”

The two men in question separate, foreheads pressing together. Joe laughs lightly, Nico smiling at him in return.

Andy and Quynh immediately run over to Nicolò, who finally let go of Joe. Quynh grabs him and hugs him tightly, rocking him from one leg to the other.

“Nico! My favorite Nico!”

Nicolò laughs, rubbing his arm up and down her back. Quynh releases him, shooing him over to Andy, who looks at him fondly.

“Hello, Andromache.”

“Hey, Nicolas.”

She reaches out, hugging him tight, before pulling away, placing one hand on his shoulder and one around the back of his neck, simply looking him over. He smiles, nodding before reaching out once again for Joe.

Booker and Nile finally stand. Nicolò, holding onto Joe’s arm now, turns towards the two.

“Thank you both for keeping an eye on these three while I was away.”

Nile barks out a laugh, shaking her head, while Booker huffs. Hearing him, Nico nods.

“You especially Sèbastien, you saved me. Grazie mille.”

Booker turns bright red, waving a hand. Joe leans forward and places his hand on Booker’s shoulder, smiling.

“Guess you didn’t fuck up that bad, huh?”

_That_ caused Booker to laugh because Joe fucking with him was normal, it felt like before, before it all got too much, before Copley and Merrick, when they sometimes only had each other and there was no choice but to stew in each others own misery. 

“So, ladies and gentleman,” Quynh said, kicking Dr. Kozak lightly. “What’s the plan now?”

“Ah, yes.” Nicolò reached around and grabbed a pistol from his waistband.

“I’m not, uh...sure how to use this properly, one of you should take it.” He held it out towards the other five, waiting for someone to take it.

_How he got this far is fucking beyond me_.

“Alright,” Andy says with a laugh, shaking out her arms and grabbing the pistol, “time to makes these fuckers pay.”

The rest of the immortals nod, as they began lining up. First Andy, then Quynh, Nile, Booker, Joe, and finally Nico. Andy held a hand on the door handle, preparing them all to move out, when Nicolò lets out a whistle, causing Booker and Nile to turn around.

“By the way, it is nice to finally meet you two.”

“Honestly it’s about time,” Nile smiles, nodding towards Joe, “he promised that you’d make me the best damn lasagna i’d ever have.” 

Nicolò laughed. “I will try my best.”

Booker took one last look at everyone around him, his brothers and sisters, his  _family_ ,  finally all together, as they should be.

“I’m glad I got to meet you too, Nicky. The family’s finally complete.”

At that Nicolò looks contemplative, and then,

“Nicky, huh?” for the first time in centuries, Nicky smiles a wide, toothy grin.

“I think I like that a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! Let me know what you think, I may add a Nicky POV as a third part later on this week. Again, if any translations are wrong, give me a heads up! 
> 
> Translations:  
> Merde - Fuck  
> Je suis désolé, Yusuf, dèsolè. - I’m sorry, Yusuf, sorry.  
> Qui a fait quoi? - Who did what?  
> Les salauds l'ont trouvé. Ton cœur est libre. - The bastards found him. Your heart is free.  
> Ils pensent qu'il a peur, ils essaient de le tromper. - They think he is scared. They are trying to trick him.  
> Ya amar- my moon  
> kunt aftaqadk kathirana - I missed you  
> anche tu mi sei mancata - I missed you too

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Let me know if any translations are off, and i’ll fix them asap!
> 
> Translations:  
> Père s'il te plait, qu'avons-nous fait pour mériter ça? — Father, please, what did we do to deserve this?  
> Grazie dio, grazie dio sta bene. —Thank God, thank God he is okay.  
> 'iinaa asif — i’m sorry  
> Toujours si naïf, chérie. — Always so naive, honey.


End file.
